


Risks worth Taking

by ConsentFest, keyflight790



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Boys Kissing, Dreams, Dreamsharing, Dubious Consent, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Happy Ending, Kissing, Light BDSM, Loneliness, M/M, Mentions of past deaths, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Paperwork, Post-Break Up, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Restraints, Spanking, Top Harry Potter, and a lot of insecurities, draco has a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 03:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17675837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsentFest/pseuds/ConsentFest, https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: Draco and Harry broke up 78 nights ago. Only a miracle (or perhaps an errant spell) could bring them back together.





	1. It's always you in my big dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thirdeyeblinkings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirdeyeblinkings/gifts).



> Prompt 83: Two characters are hit with a spell that causes them to share dreams. Is what happens when they dream together real? Does it require consent in the dream? When they're awake?  
> Extra Information: Would be interesting if one or both of the characters don't realize they're sharing dreams until they've done a few things in those dreams already . . .And having some of those dreams eventually become reality and be a happy ending would be perfect.
> 
> Promptor, I really loved this idea of consent while we're in our subconscious. Can we control what we see, what we do? Does it seep into our real lives when we wake? And what if our dreams are filled with someone, memories we'd rather forget? I hope you enjoy what I worked out with your prompt. 
> 
> A big thank you to my amazing alpha, G, and my wonderful betas, S and B. HUGE thank yous to the mods for this very intriguing fest.
> 
> Title lyrics are from [Konstantine by Something Corporate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R2sjzGH6txY), if anyone wants to give it a listen. 
> 
> My approach to the consent in this fic is outlined in the end notes. Also I broke this out into chapters after the fic published, apologies for any confusion.

**_It's always you in my big dreams_ **

* * *

 

Draco’s day started out like any other. He woke, fed Marzipan, and headed to work. He checked on his cauldrons, filed his usual paperwork. Refilled the potions in the Ministry infirmary. Flooed home.

His flat was empty for the 78th day in a row, except for his yellow cat, who meowed incessantly until he spooned stinky tuna onto her dish and poured clean water into her bowl. Draco scratched behind her ears as he pulled out his takeaway and settled down with his sketchbook on the sofa. He had light tinges of an impending headache, and he was hoping the meal would squelch any upcoming pressure.

The rest of his evening was spent drawing long lines with a bit of charcoal. He was practicing sketching hands, never quite able to make the bend of a knuckle or the thickness of a palm look natural enough. His nail beds were always too perfect, the shadowing too rigid.

He sketched until the moon sat high, until his fingers were tingling from the strain and his eyes struggled to stay open. Marzipan followed him to bed, and they both curled up in his green satin sheets, drifting off to sleep.

\---

Draco’s dreams took him to a familiar room in a familiar place. The Castle in Scotland. The Room of Requirement if he was going to be specific. That four-poster bed sat in the corner, that thick woven rug in front of the fireplace.

His dreams often took him to this setup, to the Room, to this memory, especially when his own bed was empty and cold. A reminder of what things were and what could have been.

It had been a while since he’d been at Hogwarts. Since he’d been with Harry in the halls and on the grounds and in the Room. The young couple had visited this specific Room so many times that he recognized every detail; the dark blue armchair, the beaded wallpaper, the fire steadily crackling in the stone hearth. He recalled the titles of the books on the nightstand, the same one that held Harry’s glasses and their lube, next to the bed that held their trembling bodies and their spent orgasms.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he heard Harry’s voice behind him. Harry was usually there in his dreams, especially when he dreamt of this Room and that hearth and that bed. But it had been a while since he’d heard that voice in real life, and the gentle tone sent gentle shivers up his spine.

“Malfoys don’t back down from a challenge,” he answered. It was the words he had said that first time they gave themselves to each other. The night that he wanted to remember, but also the night he wished he could forget.

“We’re not in a duel, Draco. You don’t have to if you don’t want.” Harry’s voice was close. The heat from his breath sent goosebumps along Draco’s neck.

Every time Harry said his name, even now, those goosebumps returned, covering his arms and his back. Draco wondered if he’d ever hear Harry say it like that again, like it was the most wonderful word ever spoken.

“I want to,” he mumbled, barely audible, but Harry heard. Harry always heard what Draco couldn’t say. He understood his silences and his smirks better than anyone, better than Draco himself.

“Get on the bed,” Harry’s voice was steady. Draco still couldn’t believe how confident he had always sounded, even during that first time when all Draco could think about was having someone _inside_ of him. If it would be embarrassing; if it would hurt.

Harry wouldn’t hurt him.

Even later, when they were a couple, when they had moved through these same motions several times, when they were both confident and sure — actually sure and not pretend-sure — Harry still wouldn’t hurt Draco. Even when Draco asked. Even when he begged for it. Harder, faster, _rougher_.

Draco couldn’t understand how someone with so much passion, someone who fought with so much vigor and boldness during the during the day, could be so timid during their nights. Harry made love to Draco as if he were a piece of glass, or worse, a delicate feather that could be ripped from his hands at any moment.

Just like his headmaster and his godfather and his parents had been ripped from his tender grip.

Draco shook his head. He rid his thoughts of death, and instead turned his attention to the man on the bed, naked, waiting.

Draco undressed slowly, his cheeks tinged pink and his fingers trembling. He flushed, hearing the familiar gasp that released from Harry’s throat when he unbuttoned his trousers, the one that always made him feel sexy and wanted. He finally stepped out of his clothes and walked towards the bed, crawling in and burying himself under the sheets.

His dream took him through every delicious moment. The way Harry’s mouth felt pressed against his own, the swipe of his tongue in his mouth and the bite of his teeth on his lip, until they slowed into a sweet serenade of heavy breaths and sighs. The way they both moaned when their cocks touched, rutting against each other, coming almost instantly from the friction. The way Harry opened Draco up slowly, checking almost incessantly as to how he felt, if it was okay, until he was trembling with need.

"Just fuck me already,” Draco snarled when the feeling of careful movements of Harry’s torturous fingers inside him drove him too close to the edge again.

The sudden shift when Harry’s fingers curved upward, grazing that tender spot they both would learn to love so much. Draco wasn’t used to waiting to get what he wanted, and he wanted Harry’s cock. Now.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Harry grumbled as he pulled Draco up on his knees.

Draco smirked, just like he had the first time Harry pulled that perfect muggle line. It was something they would later say about the most mundane things, like when Harry would leave the window open, and Draco would come home to leaves and twigs in the kitchen.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Harry’d laugh as he’d Banish the nature from the floor.

Draco closing the window with a dry smirk, and a sharp reply. “You know I’m not wearing any.”

All previous thoughts and memories quickly disappeared as Harry pressed in, filling him, completing him. Draco moaned, tilting his head, arching his back. No matter how many times they would do this after — Harry thrusting into Draco — it would never feel quite as good as it had that first time.

The first time Draco had dropped his mask. The first time he opened up and allowed himself to be loved. To be loved by Harry.

The first time their bodies became one.

Draco’s eyes filled with tears, and he couldn’t remember crying that night, but he was crying now in this dream, thinking about how Harry would never fill him like this again, would never cradle him and love him like he had that night and so many nights after. The drops ran down his cheeks and he realised he was sobbing, his chest heaving and shaking as Harry continued to thrust.

“Draco,” Harry tilted his head and kissed away stray tears. “Am I hurting you?”

Harry would ask this question so much, but Draco had always answered ‘no’. It was the truth; Harry’s lovemaking had never hurt him, only filled him with passion and hope and warmth and kindness. But Harry was absent outside of his dreams, and Draco was alone. Harry _had_ hurt him. Not physically, never physically, but he’d managed to hurt Draco so emotionally that sometimes he couldn’t breathe.

Harry cradled Draco’s head in his hand and repeated the question. "Am I hurting you?"

“Yes.”


	2. The presents just an interruption to the past

**_The presents just an interruption to the past_ **

* * *

 

Draco awoke with a start, his breath caught in his chest. He ran a hand over his face and was surprised to feel tears welled up in the corners of his eyes.

He had been crying.

His dream was so vivid, and Draco wondered if it was because it was based on his memories, or because it had hurt so much to see Harry yearning for him in dreamland when he could barely look at him in the halls at the Ministry.

Standing under the rain of the shower head, Draco tried to wash his dream away with shampoo. He tried to scrub off the feeling of Harry on his skin, the slide of their cocks. He could still taste tart on his tongue, and it had all felt so real.

Draco dressed in his Potions uniform, grabbed his dragonhide gloves, and headed to work.

Perhaps coffee would rid the taste of Harry in his mouth, allowing the hot bitterness to bring him back to the cold mornings of the real world. As he stood in line, tapping his foot and waiting for the barista to motion for his order, Draco realized he wasn’t the only one with the need for caffeine on a Friday morning.

Potter stood no less than three patrons behind him. Draco couldn’t even force a smile when he caught emerald eyes in his gaze. His head dropped quickly when he spotted Draco, just as it had every day for the past 79 days.

Ever since they had ended things.

Draco huffed and turned back to the counter where the barista was thankfully waiting for his request of a medium coffee with just a hint of cream. Draco procured his caffeine salvation and glanced back over his shoulder on his way out the door. Potter was nowhere to be seen.

He arrived at his desk in no more of a bad mood than any other morning since their breakup, and noticed a red slip of paper, an Interdepartmental Memo, lying on his desk.

> _It has been brought to our attention that an errant curse was released through the building yesterday at 2:15 pm. As no maladies have been presented, the Ministry is unable to determine exactly what the curse was or its intentions at this time. Please report to your supervisor if any symptoms should arise on or in your person over the next 72 hours._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Mafalda Hopkirk Improper Use of Magic Office_

Draco hastily checked the levels on his potions, making sure that no additional ingredients had snuck their way through his shields. Even a wayward eyelash could send a potion haywire, and the results could be catastrophic.

His position at the Ministry was very tenuous. Not enough time had passed since the war, and some officials and Aurors still refused to drink his concoctions of a former-turned redeemed-Death Eater. It would only take one person to fall ill for Draco to be back on his arse, shunned from the Wizarding World once again.

Confirming that his potions were brewing at an optimal level, Draco relaxed and turned his attention to his paperwork. He got lost in the numbers, his analytical mind stretching to comprise the exact levels needed for the shelves supply, and it wasn’t until a grumbling cough from his doorway interrupted his concentration that he realised he’d almost missed lunch.

“Malfoy,” Cormac leaned against the frame as though he deemed it beneath him to step foot into Draco's lab.

“McLaggen,” Draco sighed in reply. Right on the dot.

“Potter wants me to grab this week’s potions.”

“ _Potter_ can come pick them up himself like he’s supposed to. Is it not still his responsibility to check each vial?”

Cormac sighed and rolled his eyes. “Come on, man,” he replied, clearly annoyed by his routine errand.

“But he’s too busy to do his job, is that it? Just like last week and the week before that. Very well.” Draco tilted his head toward a box nestled on the floor. “There you go.”

Cormac huffed, but cast a Leviosa on the box, training it to follow him back to the Auror department two floors up. Draco rested his fingers on his temples, massaging the dull ache that was gathered behind his eyes.

He knew he should be used to it by now. Being ignored by the great and wonderful Harry Potter, Saviour to all, and ex to one. One male, that is.

They had tortured each other at school, throwing biting hexes and stuns and wicked retorts, but that anger had turned to heat, and their relationship had blossomed as quickly as the Fiendfyre had filled the Room. The same room they fucked in. The same room they made love in.

His headache continued to bloom throughout the afternoon, and when the clock finally chimed five, Draco was more than ready to escape the dull walls of the Ministry.

However, when he got home, he was met once again with the lonely, cold walls of his flat. Eating alone, one more night in a row, suddenly seemed like the worst possible scenario. He decided to Floo his closest friend to see if they could grab a pint.

“Draco?” Neville’s face lit up behind the flickering flames. “All good, mate?”

“Yeah,” Draco tried to smile in response. “Want to grab a pint? I could meet you at the Leaky in 30 minutes?”

“Can’t,” Neville answered with a frown. “I have this thing with Hannah and her dad. I’d invite you, but…”

Draco held up his hand, gesturing _no need._ After all, the last thing Mr. Abbott wanted was an ex-Death Eater at their family dinner, considering what had happened to his wife.

He couldn’t blame Mr. Abbot, or the countless others who still hated him, still wanted him locked up or even dead. Those who had lost parts of their family, parts of themselves, had a harder time forgiving Draco’s actions during the war.

Kindling a friendship with Neville had not been easy, nor was it intentional. During seventh year, Draco had found himself alone in his Slytherin House. While his parents saw the Dark Lord’s residence in their home as an honour, the other students saw it as a curse, a threat against their livelihoods and their families, fellow Death Eaters or not. Cloaked in isolation, the only student with the Mark, carrying the weight of forced decisions.

He kept to himself when he returned for his seventh year at Hogwarts, more thankful for his private Head Boy accommodations than he ever had been before. It became painful to wander the halls where he was forced to hex and practice dark spells. _Crucio_ fell from his lips with more ease than he imagined possible. So he squirreled away rations from breakfast, trying to avoid surfacing during the days.

He had noticed corners of toast, or rashers, or full pieces of fruit would disappear from his stash. His first thoughts were the house elves, cleaning his room when they changed the sheets, but when he asked, they would vehemently deny, usually before banging their heads against the wall in punishment, that Draco would even think they would disturb his personal items. He stopped asking quickly after that, memories of his own beloved house elf, Dobby, whose fingers always trembled in fear as he pulled down the hem of his tea cozy.

Instead of ceasing, Draco continued to plunder more rations from the kitchens. He wasn’t sure where the food was disappearing to, but he wanted to keep his cabinet stocked either way.

After the war, he found out that the Room of Requirement had created a small tunnel to his bookshelf, allowing Neville to reach his hand in and acquire any food Draco had left there. He was unknowingly supplying the Rooms fellow refugees, allowing them to stay in the safety of the Room for as long as possible.

So when Draco wrote Neville an apology owl for his actions after the war, Neville responded by inviting him to dinner, cooking him a meal to thank him for all of the meals Draco had provided in turn. Their friendship built slowly, but eventually, Draco was proud to call Neville his best mate.

He turned his attention back to his grumbling stomach and tucked his head into the refrigerator, hoping to find something he could assemble into a decent meal, and set to work on a buttery pasta. He popped open a bottle of wine, thinking the alcohol might help qualm the sorrow building in his stomach as he sat alone at his table big enough for eight one night more.

Sketching had become a nightly routine after his breakup with Potter. Creating something from his hands had felt good, and the process of drawing lines and filling shadows seemed to calm the voices in his head, the ones that always told him he wasn’t good enough, that he didn’t deserve happiness.

His hands began to tire after a while, and he closed his sketchbook, dropping it carelessly to the floor. Draco padded to his room and fell into bed, trying to get comfortable in the middle of his mattress surrounded by pillows and Marzipan, but he continued to toss and turn. He needed to stop thinking of his bed as _my side_ and _his side_.

Still, Draco couldn’t drift off to sleep until he shifted his body to the left, curling up, imagining strong, warm arms around his waist, hot breath on his back.


	3. Could you let me go?

**_Could you let me go?_ **

* * *

 

His dreams took him to the Forest of Dean. He recognized the lake, the break in the trees. The way the moonlight threaded through branches onto the leaf-covered ground.

Harry had taken him here after they left Hogwarts. He wanted to show Draco everything; what the trio had seen, what they had found. Where he was born. Where his parents still lay, resting in their tombs side-by-side, together for eternity.

Draco tried not to think about the forest. It hurt too much, after what happened, what was said. However, it seemed like his subconscious wanted him to see it, to feel the trees and the leaves and the pain again.

Harry was already lying against the earth, his face pointed up towards the blackened sky. Draco approached and spread his long body out next to him, wincing slightly at the cold ground on his back.

The stars were especially bright as they curled up next to each other on the soft floor of the forest. Even in the darkness, the forest had a symphony of life echoing around them; crickets chirping in the distance, owls hooting their evening confessions. He could practically smell the fresh water in the lake. It was all so real, as if he was living it in the present instead of his dreams tormenting him with the past.

“It was so cold that night,” Harry’s voice filled the air. “Hermione leaned against that tree trunk. She wouldn’t say it, but I know she was waiting for Ron to show up.”

“But didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” His voice was so soft, so fearful when he recounted their travels. Draco knew he had been scared, trying to put on a brave front for his friends, but inside he had no idea whether they were doing the right thing, heading in the right direction.

“Ron showed up,” Harry continued, but Draco had heard this part, how Harry had found the lake and the sword at the bottom, and how Ron had destroyed the necklace.

“It would still be months before I saw you again.”

Draco’s mind flashed to that day in the Manor; on his knees, staring into those piercing green eyes as he lied. As if he wouldn’t recognise Harry Potter in the darkest of nights.

Those eyes focused in on him again, and Draco tilted his head to better face Harry.

“I used to watch you. On the map.”

“What map?” Draco asked, startled. He sat upright, hands planted behind him in the grass. This was brand new information, not part of his memory. Not part of their past.

“It was my dad’s. The Marauders’. I guess it was all of theirs, at some point. It showed the school, and everyone in it.” Harry paused a moment, brushing a strand of blond out of Draco’s face. “It’s how I always knew where you were.”

“You sneaky git.” Draco couldn’t believe it. Was Harry really telling him he thought about Draco during that year? When they were on the run, when the tent was as cold as their tracks towards the Horcruxes.

“Yes, very Slytherin of me,” Harry laughed, and Draco remembered the day he learned about the hatstall, back when they were fucking at school and everything was still perfect. The idea had excited him, his mind filling with images of Harry in green; Harry on the Slytherin couch staring out the window into the black lake; Harry in his quarters every night.

“I just wanted to make sure you were safe,” Harry continued. “Want to keep you safe.”

“Why?” Draco asked, and he wasn’t sure if his question was about the map or the statement after.

“I love you.”

There it was. Clear as day, and the words made Draco’s heart pump like it had that first time when his back was on the earth and his head was in the clouds and his eyes were pinpoint focused on the person he didn’t deserve. The person he loved.

Draco took a deep breath, and whispered, “I love you, too.”

It wasn’t the answer he had given that day in the forest.

That day he had yelled, and denied, and told Harry that if he loved him, if he truly loved him, he would tell the world. That it wouldn’t be their private thing. That Draco wouldn’t be his dirty secret.

Draco wanted to tell everyone. He wanted to tell his mother and his friends and the Headmaster and his boss. He wanted it splashed across the papers, that Harry Potter loved him and that yes, he loved him back and they were happy and trusted each other and would be together, despite their past, despite their fears and their nightmares and all the shitty things that had happened to them.

He wanted to exchange rings and create bonds and adopt a cat. He wanted to have children and grow old together. He wanted a life, a future, with Harry.

Instead, they hid their love in separate flats, and while Harry was in Draco’s bed every night, he wasn’t always there in the morning. In the cafeteria, Draco still sat alone, and Harry sat alone, and it wasn’t until those dark moments stowed away that they were back together, all limbs and panting.

Draco didn’t love that, no matter how much he loved Harry. And so he had ended things, walked away that night, and every night after.

But this was his dream, not a nightmare, and Draco didn’t have to turn his back and walk away. He could throw his arms around Harry pull him close. So he did.

Draco rolled onto his side, elbow digging into the hard ground, other arm wrapping around Harry’s waist. He tugged, pulling him closer so they were chest to chest, and it felt like he could finally breathe again.

It was Harry who kissed him first, and Draco allowed himself to melt into it, pushing away the anger, the thoughts, the jealousy of not being _his_ anymore. But for tonight, he was. They were out in the open, exposed to the night sky with it’s audience of bright stars and silver moon. A perfect dream.

Harry’s kisses were hungry, passionate, his tongue searching the concaves of his soul, diving deeper and deeper with every touch. He crawled on top of Draco, pushing him into the dirt, grounding him as he nibbled on Draco’s lower lip, his jawline, the tender spot behind his ear.

“Yes,” Draco moaned, the thrill of Harry’s touch on his skin again, and Merlin, it was exactly what he wanted; Harry’s hands on his waist, pushing his shirt up, exposing his skin to the cool, damp air.

Harry tore at the fabric, ripping Draco’s shirt down the middle, and if that wasn’t dream-like, if this whole thing wasn’t the best dream he had ever had, Harry’s fattening cock pressed against his thigh as he devoured Draco’s mouth, and it was perfect, perfect, _perfect._

“Missed you,” Harry mumbled into his collarbone, and Draco bit his lip, holding back the tears that were bound to come if he thought about it, that Harry didn’t miss him, and it was Draco’s fault. That this whole thing was only in his head and that he’d wake up alone, again. But this wasn’t a nightmare. _Not a nightmare_.

And so he let Harry keep kissing him, his mouth moving lower and lower down his chest, his teeth grazing his nipples. Draco arched his back, pleading with his body for _more_ , always wanting more than he deserved.

Harry’s mouth was finally over the bulge in Draco’s trousers, the hot heat of his breath warming Draco’s skin beneath the thin fabric. Draco pushed up on his heels and helped Harry yank them off, bunching them around his ankles, and suddenly his mouth was there, hot heat on his need.

“Yes, right there, oh, fuck, _yes_ ,” Draco keened as Harry swallowed him down, working his tongue along his shaft, cradling his bollocks with his hand. Draco couldn’t help but run his fingers through Harry’s hair, that _fucking_ hair that always drove him wild with the way it was wild. The way Harry was wild. The way he wanted Harry to be wild with him, the way Harry never could let himself be.

Draco knew it wouldn’t be long before he tipped over the edge. He had spent so many nights trying to remember Harry’s mouth, his hands, and the feel of them finally on him was too much. His tongue was too much and his fingers were too much, and when Harry opened his throat and took Draco down to the hilt, it was all on that dark side of too much.

“Fuck, Harry, I’m going to -”

Harry began to hum, acknowledging, agreeing that he wanted this, _yes_ , and Draco was coming, his body shaking. Hot spurts of Draco that Harry drank, like he was parched, bone-dry, craving every drop.

He was still shuddering when Harry climbed back up, pressing his lips against Draco’s ear.

“ _Please,_ love, touch me, I need you to touch me,” he whined, and Draco’s arms broke out in goosebumps, the heat from those words, the hunger.

He quickly unbuttoned Harry’s trousers, exposing his cock, his _gorgeous_ cock, surrounded by moonlight and fireflies and wasn’t it just the most beautiful thing he had seen? He cast a charm and wrapped his lubed fingers around the shaft, giving it an exploratory pull. Harry threw his head back on the ground, his wild hair now covered in dirt, and Draco couldn’t help but smile. It had been so long since he’d seen Harry happy, carefree, and content. He wanted to see that every day.

Even though he might never see it again.

Draco drowned those thoughts out with another twist, his hand now moving up and down Harry’s length, listening closely for those moans he hoped would come.

“Yes, _fuck_ , Draco,” Harry sighed, and Draco pulled, his hand moving faster. He tucked his head into Harry’s shoulder, mouthing all of the words he wished he could say in real life.

 _I miss you. I love you. I want you to be proud of me. Of us_.

“Yes, Draco, ungghh, yes.” And then Harry was coming, his body shaking below Draco’s, his orgasm hot on his palm. Draco’s mouth on his neck, and his name on Harry’s lips.

They looked at each other, eyes locked, breathing harsh and ragged in the night.

He wanted to keep staring into those eyes, but he knew if he did for one moment longer he wouldn’t be able to stop.

So he closed them.

And woke up in his bed alone.


	4. I’m sleeping in your living room, but we don’t have much room to live

_**I’m sleeping in your living room, but we don’t have much room to live** _

Draco was more than thankful that it was Saturday, that he didn’t have to put on his work robes and head to the office. He just wanted to drown out the morning sunlight with dark curtains, and cover himself with heavy duvets and the warmth of his cat.

Instead, he curled up on the sofa and spent the day sketching, staring out the window facing his garden terrace. Thick black lines slowly merged into sloping curves, and eventually, he was drawing Harry. His face. His scar. The dimples in his cheeks.

He could never get his hands right. His fingers were always too arched, or too soft. Draco could never seem to convey how safe Harry’s hands made him feel. How loved. How much he felt like he belonged when Harry wrapped his fingers around his own, pressing their palms together.

Draco turned the page and tried to focus on dragons instead. The sharp ridges of wings, their teeth, their claws. Drawing dragons came easily to Draco, but people. People were always so hard for him to figure out.

He spared a glance towards his own furball, the tiny bundle of yellow who was currently kneading at his thigh with her claws.

“Hungry?” He peered out the window and was surprised when he saw the setting sun. He hadn’t eaten either, so he picked through his cabinets while he dished out some cat food.

“Should I have this chicken or shepherds pie?” He glanced at Marzipan, who simply tilted her head in response. “Or maybe I should stop talking to my cat.”

He pulled out a container of leftovers, obtained from the Manor during his most recent visit. The pie looked lumpy and cold, and Draco’s mind wandered to meals at the Weasleys. Molly’s pies were always top-notch.

Harry had brought him several times, only as a friend. It’s where he finally mended things with the other Gryffindors. He had apologized to Ron and Hermione and Luna and George most of all. It had been important to mend and build their trust, and over time, their companionship, across the table, covered in food and love.

He felt a lump in his stomach and hurried to squash it with lamb and potatoes.

After he was full, he spooned a couple of errant pieces of meat onto Marzipan’s plate and padded back to his beloved sofa.

Perhaps he should go flying. It had been months since he dusted off his broom, and night-flying had been one of his favourite activities. Yet, the thought of drifting alone among the stars didn’t hold the same appeal. Instead, he flipped on the telly, the one Harry insisted they install, and drowned out his feelings in a marathon of Doctor Who.

His cat settled into his lap, rolling herself into a ball and hunkering down. Well, now he couldn’t very well go anywhere. Instead, he adjusted his pillows and decided to camp out on his living room sofa for the night.

His brain, however, did not get the memo. It kept running on a treadmill of hopes and fears. He couldn’t get his body to calm down, couldn’t get that little voice inside his head to just _shut up_ and let him sleep.

\---

When he finally drifted off, he found himself in a room of sorts, with hooks covering the ceiling and shelves covering the walls. He recognized a trunk in the corner, the same trunk that always sat at the end of Harry’s bed in school, and now sat in the corner of his room in his flat.

Harry’s trunk.

He never went near Harry’s trunk. It was full of secrets he never seemed to trust Draco with. Always a point of contention, but Draco had his secrets, too, so who was he to judge?

But here, in this room, in this dream, it sat wide open.

Draco walked over and took a peek. His eyes went wide when he discovered all of the toys hidden beneath chestnut wood. Floggers and ball gags and dildos and a silver pair of handcuffs that made Draco so excited he could practically feel the cool metal around his wrists and ankles.

“Is this what you want, Draco?”

He snapped up, guiltily meeting Harry’s eyes. He knew Harry didn’t want him peeking in his trunk, but it was so open and accessible, and Draco just wanted to take the briefest glance.

“I want you, Harry.” His answer was earnest and sincere, but his eyes flicked around the room, anticipation growing with every silver buckle and clamp he spotted.

“And I want you to be happy,” Harry answered, and Draco noticed that he had a thick piece of leather in his hands. Bouncing it on his palm, Harry repeated, “Is this what you want, Draco?”

“Yes,” Draco groaned. He wanted to feel the passion he saw in Harry when he was fighting evil wizards and intricate curses and dark magic during the day. Draco wanted Harry to bring that passion to the bedroom, that hot heat, that fire within him, marking his skin, reddening his arse, using his body for whatever he wanted.

Harry had never taken him that way. Never even an errant spank or a secure hand around his throat. Draco’s cock was already twitching in anticipation of whatever his Dream Harry had planned.

“Brace yourself,” Harry ordered, and Draco’s entire body shuddered as his clothes were Vanished from his skin. He rushed to the wall, placing both palms flat against the cool concrete, and waited. And waited.

Draco looked over his shoulder and saw Harry, standing gloriously naked, switch in hand, ready, willing, able, but hesitating.

“Is this what _you_ want?” Draco asked, trying to hide the shaking in his voice.

“I want to make you happy.”

“You made me happy, love,” Draco answered. “You made me so happy. And I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Harry hesitated another beat. “I want to.” His voice came out heady and deep as if he was confessing his sins opposed to chatting with his boyfriend. _Ex-boyfriend_ , Draco reminded himself. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Draco closed his eyes. That mantra was so ingrained in his head that it didn’t even phase him anymore. It was always Harry’s go-to for why they couldn’t embrace their desires. Why they couldn’t be public, out and free.

 _I want to keep you safe, Draco,_ he’d murmur against Draco’s cheek. _So many people still want me dead. They’ll come after you to get to me._

As if there weren’t witches and wizards that wanted him dead as well, that wouldn’t hesitate to kill a former Death Eater, the one who allowed those monsters into the castle. As if he hadn’t been one of those monsters himself. Being threatened was already a daily occurrence for him. Draco could defend himself. He was just as competent as Harry in any duel and knew his way around a wand. The last thing he needed was some white knight locking him in a tower, holding him captive

Still, he wanted Harry to unleash on him, wanted to feel the passion that he knew brewed inside his beautiful body.

“You won’t hurt me, Harry. I trust you.”

Draco turned his gaze back to the wall, waiting patiently. It took a spell of time, but soon, he heard the clear draw of a whip soaring through the air before it landed, deliciously, on his backside.

His skin bloomed on impact, and the heat spread over his body. He wondered if his arse was already colouring, if there was a tiny stripe of crimson, dark like a beet or if his entire body resembled a tomato. He was still focusing on colours when the switch met his skin again.

Draco yelped, the pain unexpected but not unpleasant as it warmed along his cheeks. He couldn’t help but press his arse backward, silently begging for another hit.

Harry drew the whip back and smacked it across both cheeks, marking him once more. “Merlin,” Harry breathed. “You’re so beautiful, Draco.”

Those words of praise dripping from Harry’s mouth were almost enough to send him over the edge. His cock was so hard and leaking, as he waited in anticipation of another lashing.

Harry obliged, pulling the whip and landing it hard on Draco. His body bucked towards the wall as the heat spread through him. He was shaking with want, with his _need_ for Harry.

“Yes, more,” Draco growled, canting his hips.

“As you wish,” Harry answered. “I’ve always wanted to put you over my knee.”

“Why didn’t you?” Draco grunted. He knew the answer, but the thought of Harry draping Draco over his thighs, roughing him up, using his hands to redden Draco’s skin was almost more than he could handle.

Instead of hearing what he already knew, that real life Harry couldn’t cause Draco any pain, even if he was asking, begging for it, needing it, even if the pain led to excruciating pleasure, he simply answered Draco’s question with another hiss of the whip.

Dream Harry didn’t seem to care about something as trivial as physical pain anymore, and Draco wanted so desperately to push the limits on what kind of high they could reach together.

“Tell me what else you want, Harry,” Draco pleaded, his voice already sore from moaning, his cock weeping onto the hard floor. Strong hands gripped his side, pulling his raw arse against the rough fabric of Harry’s trousers as he leaned in, closing the gap between them.

“Want to tie you up, spread you open, have my way with you,” Harry growled in his ear, and Draco could practically feel the raw desire dripping from his mouth, from his skin. He licked his lips, trying to memorize the feeling of Harry’s muscles pressed up against him, the feeling of Harry’s hard cock along his backside.

“Do it,” Draco murmured, and with a swish of his wand, Harry tied Draco’s wrists above his head, grappling the rope to a hook on the ceiling. He anchored Draco with a spreader bar between his legs, coaxing the cold metal chains around his ankles, securing him. Draco pulled against the restraints, and even though they held him tight, he felt like he was being set free, encouraged to soar to new heights.

“How does it feel?” Harry’s worried tone was apparent, and Draco yearned to reassure him. He wanted Harry to care, to be protective, but he couldn’t have Harry holding anything back if they were both going to get what they needed.

Draco needed this. His cock was ramrod hard, and he adjusted his stance, checking the tightness of the restraints. “I’m good, love. _Please,_ ” Draco begged, wishing that Harry would start whatever he wanted to do.

With hungry eyes, Harry placed a firm hand on Draco’s spine and reared his shoulder back. Draco winced as the first thwap from Harry’s hands hit his already tender arse.

“Yes,” he moaned, as Harry placed three more quick spanks on the same cheek before rubbing his skin gently, calmingly.

Harry grunted in response and continued to tap his arse lightly, keeping the skin hot and alert. Shifting, Harry drew his hand back and gave Draco's other cheek a hard smack, and Draco could feel the flesh on his arse rippling from the impact.

“Gorgeous,” Harry whispered, and Draco didn’t know if Harry was talking about him or the colours that were surely erupting across his backside, but he didn’t care either way. Harry was holding him and hurting him and skyrocketing him towards a bliss he didn’t even know was possible.

When Harry’s fingers, slick with lubricant, caressed the tender ridges of his rim, Draco keened, wishing he could move his already-spread legs further apart in invitation.

“Going to fuck you,” Harry’s voice was commanding and clear, and it reminded Draco of the way he sounded at the office when he was giving directions to Junior Aurors and Potion Masters.

“Fuck, please, Harry,” Draco begged. He wanted to feel Harry again, feel his cock inside of him and his body pressed against his hot and delicate skin. He was nowhere near as prepared as usual, but he didn’t care. He wanted to feel the burn of Harry opening him, filling him up.

Harry loosened the ropes surrounding Draco’s wrists and positioned him so he was leaning forward, still dangling from the ceiling. He was still unable to move, left only for Harry’s pleasure alone.

The idea of that in itself made him want to come. Right there, untouched.

Harry didn’t hesitate as he lined himself up and began to thrust forward. At some point, Draco assumed he must have oiled his cock, and his mind snapped to Harry wrapping his strong fingers around it, readying himself to fuck Draco into oblivion.

He only had to imagine it for a moment before Harry’s tip pushed into his needy hole, and continued to press in, inch by inch.

Draco arched his back, begging for more. He wanted to feel Harry inside of him, his back against him, his arms around his waist. He missed this. He missed them.

There were so many days where he wanted to turn around, to storm into Harry’s office and beg for him to take him back, that he could deal with no one knowing, that it didn’t matter as long as they were together. Even if they were only together in the dark.

But then he’d go to Sunday dinner and sit across from his parents, who were still ridiculously in love despite everything they had gone through, and Draco wanted to hold hands with his own partner while he ate Yorkshire pudding.

He wanted to sit next to Harry at the Burrow, their legs touching as Ron beat Harry at another game of Exploding Snap, instead of having to sit across the room and be a common spectator to the great Potter’s life.

He wanted to marry and to bond, to grow old together, sitting under the lemon tree in their garden, as their grandchildren made daisy flower crowns and rode around on tiny brooms.

He wanted to lay in the sun, and not hide under the moon. He wanted all of it.

But when he’d asked, Harry wanted none.

Dream Harry, however, wanted all of him. He continued to thrust into Draco like his life depended on it. His body was stretched along Draco’s back and his breath was hot on his cheek.

“So perfect, Draco, yes, so bloody tight,” Harry moaned in his ear, his thighs slapping against his sore bum. Draco let out a moan in response, tilting his body so that Harry could enter him further, filling him up just the way he needed.

He wanted to grab his own cock and pull, spilling himself over the edge he was climbing deliciously towards, but his arms were still restrained, his body at Harry’s mercy.

“Please,” the sound escaped Draco's throat, begging Harry to touch him.

“You’re so good for me, love,” Harry’s voice was soothing and Draco leaned into it, letting it seep into his skin, into his bones and his veins.

“Why did I let you go?”


	5. Please don’t think that this was easy

_**Please don’t think that this was easy** _

* * *

 

His heart pounded hard in his chest when he woke, naked on the sofa. He hadn’t the foggiest idea when he had Banished his clothes, but he was extremely aware of his unsheathed length, hard and throbbing in his hand.

Draco tugged twice and shuddered as his orgasm overcame him, pulsing long white ropes over his hand and his chest. The scene replayed over and over in his head, Harry bending him over, using him at his will. Wanting him. Taking him. Needing him the way Draco always wanted to be needed.

“Why did I let you go?” Harry’s last words spun in a delicate circle as Draco lay on the cushions, spelled clean by his comforting Hawthorn wand. Harry hadn’t let him go, Draco had left. He hadn’t given Harry a choice or a chance, ignoring all of his persistent owls, dodging him in the corridors. He knew he’d never be what Harry wanted, what he needed. Draco would never be enough for the Chosen One.

It had taken days after the breakup before he’d even return Neville’s Floocalls. He couldn’t imagine pretending everything was fine to a friend who could tell when nothing was.

Neville would have know, and Neville would have wanted to help, and Draco couldn’t talk about it. Couldn’t talk about the years that they hid their relationship even from their best mates, how it felt like a huge part of his heart and his soul was missing and living inside of Harry _fucking_ Potter. Neville would feel crushed, being on the outskirts of more secrets once again, and Draco couldn’t do that to him. So instead he ignored the letters and the calls, forcing Neville to barge into his office one day and demand answers.

Draco had filled him with half-truths, about a recent breakup and nothing more, and Neville had brought him a Calendula plant and made him tea and held him while he cried, and it had helped. It didn’t fill the void within Draco, but it had helped.

He thought time would help.

But time was a fickle thing. He always assumed there would be more time for the both of them.

Rolling off the sofa, Draco headed to the loo, and opted for a hot shower, drowning out his misery in steam and shampoo. Feeling slightly refreshed, he pulled on a worn pair of trousers and a soft shirt, and headed out the door for a nice cup of coffee.

The short walk in the crisp spring air helped Draco clear his head just as much as the familiar burn of hot coffee down his throat. He pulled out a thick pencil and sketched aimlessly onto a brown napkin, marking it with quick black strokes.

His lines were sharp and rigid, and when he was done, the entire thing was covered in bolts of lightning. He crumpled the napkin and threw it in the bin on his way out the door. He had to get out of there, had to see and talk to someone else. And he knew just where to go.

Glancing at the mid-day sun, Draco pictured his destination and Apparated on the spot.

Draco found Neville knee-deep in weeds on the edge of his garden. He usually dropped by once or twice a month to pick up some of the rare ingredients needed for his potions, inevitably sharing a cold beer with his friend after a long day of harvesting.

As soon as he was spotted, Neville waved him over, and Draco squatted down next to him, helping to remove the random greenery that always seemed to grow next to his Foxglove and Germander.

They worked mostly in silence, only stopping for a small snack around noon. Draco lost himself in the simple activity of pulling and collecting the bothersome weeds, which Neville would later use as kindling for winter fires. When most of the patch had been cleared of nuisances, Neville Accioed two ice cold beers, and they sat under some ripe boysenberry vines, enjoying the late afternoon breeze.

“See that wavy vine over there?” Neville pointed across the way, towards a thin, flowery plant that had crawled up the side of a beam. “Remember I told you I was having dinner with Hannah and her da?”

“Yeah,” Draco said uncertainty, not sure where this conversation was going.

“It’s a hybrid of a Nasturtium and Snakeweed, but I accidentally spilled some Pearl Dust on it.”

“And?”

“And I was cutting off some of its blooms, thinking it might make a nice bouquet to give to Hannah, maybe put on the table. But it seems to have a little crush on me.”

“It’s a plant,” Draco responded dryly. Sometimes Neville made no sense to him.

“Pearl Dust is in all those Love Potions, and I guess what I spilled got a little out of control. And it sort of, well it-”

“Longbottom, I need you to give me a little more, here.”

“Its tendrils unbuttoned my trousers and ripped off my clothes, and it wrapped itself around...myself.”

“Are you telling me your plant got you naked and gave you a handjob?”

Neville nodded, his cheeks blushed. He started to laugh, tilting his head back.

“And that’s when Mr. Abbott came into the backyard!” He was cackling now.

“Hannah’s dad caught you with your pants down, and a plant wrapped around your knob?” Draco was laughing too, and it felt good, allowing himself to feel joy, to laugh with his mate.

And then the heard a small cough, followed by a voice so familiar, it instantly gave Draco goosebumps.

“Erm, Neville?”

“Harry?” Neville turned around towards the noise, and Draco froze, training his stare on the long stalks of vegetables across the field, the squirrel digging in the dirt for a cast-away nut, anything to avoid seeing who caused their interruption.

“Yeah. Sorry, to bother you. Hi, Malfoy,” Harry said, the sound so close that Draco could only assume he was standing right behind the bench where they had been sitting in peace.

Draco could feel his skin turn hot, his fists clenching in anger as he stayed focused straight ahead. Neville stood and walked toward Harry, and Draco hoped he couldn’t see how his spine stiffened at the biting sound of his surname rolling off of Potter’s tongue.

“Whatcha need, Harry?”

"I’ve, erm, been having some weird dreams,” Harry mumbled to Neville, and Draco’s eyes widened.

He wanted to turn around, to see Harry’s face and his wild hair and the hollow of his throat, to see him swallow as he looked at Draco. He wanted to see if Harry's dreams were the same nature as his own. Harry would give himself away if Draco turned around and looked for the signs. But he couldn’t bear the thought of another disappointment, another rejection. It was impossible that Harry would think the way Draco did; he never had. So instead he sat frozen on the bench and listened.

“Oh, yeah. Ron was just here yesterday with a similar thing. I’ve got some dreamless sleep if you want?” Neville answered.

“I was actually hoping for some of that tea you make?”

“Oh, sure. The one with the chamomile and rose hips? _Accio herbal tea_.”

Draco could hear the teabags flying out from the house, presumably into Harry’s hands.

“Thanks, Nev. Erm, goodbye, Malfoy.”

Draco only nodded slightly, still refusing to turn around even though he could feel Harry’s glare on the back of his head. He wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing the pain that he knew was written on his face, at hearing his last name on Harry’s tongue when it had once been filled with words like _precious_ , and _beautiful,_ and _love._

“What was that all about?” Neville asked, sitting back down on the bench.

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t say a word to Harry. I thought you were friends. Thought you were past all that hating each other bullshit.”

“Yes, well, we’re back on it.”

Neville ran a hand through his hair and took a pull on his beer bottle.

“Since when? I mean, I noticed you hadn’t been by the Burrow in a while, but I figured you were just busy. What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Draco scoffed. “We’re just Malfoy and Potter. Honestly, did you expect us to stay friends?” He was staring down at his own beer to avoid Neville’s gaze, but Neville’s discerning eyes saw right through that.

“You _were_ friends,” Neville put a calming hand on Draco’s thigh. “I actually thought for a moment there was something going on between you two.”

Draco turned sharply, meeting Neville’s deep chestnut eyes.

“Like what?”

“I dunno, Draco. The way you used to look at each other. It was like how Harry looked at you during sixth year.”

“Like I was up to something?”

“Like he wanted to know what you were up to. Like he wanted to know everything about you.”

Draco’s cheeks reddened, and he self-consciously rubbed his hand across his face, hoping the chill from the bottle would calm his skin.

“Well he didn’t,” Draco stated, and he hoped his tone would end the conversation once and for all.

But Neville was a damn Gryffindor, and wouldn’t be stopped at something as small as Draco’s obvious discomfort.

“You used to look at him like the sun rose and set in his eye,” Neville whispered into the darkening sky, and Draco couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“It did,” he uttered, breath unsteady, heart beating erratically in his chest. Hearing his confession out loud felt so cathartic. ”He was my everything, and I just walked away, like the fucking coward that I am.”

Neville and Draco stayed out on that bench, drinking beers as Draco shared the story of Harry and his secret affair, culminating in his decision to leave. And how for the past two months, he’d spent every day wondering if he had made the right choice.

He had Flooed home, staggering through his fireplace, and making sure to feed Marzipan before wrapping himself in his Slytherin blanket and falling asleep on the sofa.


	6. I’m not your star, isn’t that what you said

**_I’m not your star, isn’t that what you said_ **

* * *

 

Draco’s mind was hazy from the alcohol, and he wasn’t surprised when that muddled feeling seeped into his dreams. What did surprise him was that he found himself once again tied up, his wrists bound behind him, his ankles knotted to the legs of a sturdy chair.

However, unlike the previous night, the feeling of being bound did not give him a rush of excitement or the thrill of anticipation of what might come. Instead, he tugged at his restraints, desperate to get out of their holds.

He felt like he was in danger, his heart racing, his forehead damp with sweat. He was in a dark room, with no windows and only a large metal door. Everything around him seemed foggy, filling the room with a restless haze.

“DRACO!” he could hear Harry’s screams as fists pounded against the outside of the door. “Draco, Draco, please be in there, please be okay.”

“I’m in here, Harry!” Draco called back, and he realized his voice was hoarse. How long had dream Draco been screaming? He coughed and tried to yell again. “In here, please!”

The room shifted and his vision spun, and Draco shook his head, trying to stay focused on the door and the man outside.

“I knew this would happen! Fuck, I just knew it! Draco, did they hurt you? I’ll kill them all if they touched one hair on your head.”

“No, I’m fine.” Draco called back, and although his arms were stiff and his wrists felt raw from the rope, he didn’t think anything was punctured or broken. He pulled at his restraints again, and tried to focus his magic towards cutting the ropes. Wandless magic had never been a skill of his, but this was his dream, and he hoped he’d be able to manipulate it as such.

The rope gave way slightly, whether from his magic or from sheer force, and Draco was able to slip the bindings off of his wrists. He quickly untied his ankles and ran to the door, yanking it open.

Harry fell into Draco’s arms, wrapping himself around his waist and pulling him close.

“I thought they were going to kill you,” he cried into Draco’s neck, his entire body shaking.

“Shhh,” Draco rubbed calming circles into Harry’s back. “It’s fine, I’m fine.”

“They took you,” Harry’s tears fell, dampening Draco’s shirt, and he began to rock their bodies together, hoping the rhythm would soothe him. “They took you, and I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m right here, Harry,” Draco murmured, and the fog around them was receding. Draco couldn’t help but lift his chin and stare into Harry’s beautiful green eyes. He rubbed a thumb along his cheek. His tears felt so real, so wet on his skin and on his shoulder where Harry had been crying.

“You’re not, though,” Harry stammered, pushing back from Draco as if he was all of the sudden the enemy, as if he was responsible for the entirety of the dream's events. “You’re not here, you’re not in my bed where you belong.”

“I don’t belong to you, Harry, remember?” Draco’s heart was racing again, and this time anger coursed through his veins instead of fear. “Haven’t for a while.”

“No, Draco, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to play the victim here. You left.”

“And you watched me go, you git!”

“What was I supposed to do?” Harry gasped. “Either way it was going to end. At least if you left, you’d still be safe, and alive, and you could be happy again.”

“You might as well have killed me, Harry! You think I’m happy? You think I don’t wake up every morning and reach for you? Damnit, why am I doing this to myself, I wish I would just wake up already.”

“Wake up? This is my dream, Draco, or my nightmare as it were.”

“Yours? Oh, fuck you. Everything’s always about the Chosen One, isn’t it.”

“You know better than anyone that I didn’t choose this. I didn’t want any of this!”

“Just like you didn’t want me.”

\---

The room was still dark when he opened his eyes. His pulse was still elevated, and he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his heart. It felt like a panic attack, and Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that way, like the walls were caving in, like they would crush him with their weight. He threw the blanket over his head, burying himself down, surrounding himself further with darkness. He wanted to drown out the day and the headache that had begun to pulse behind his eyes, and dispel the heaviness that gathered in his stomach.

He sat like that for a while, cocooned in the safety of his green blanket, and it wasn’t until Marzipan began to mewl incessantly that he was able to climb out and trudge to the kitchen, pulling out her rations of tuna and water.

He poured himself a coffee, black, and thought for a moment about whipping up some beans on toast. The thought of food, however, sent his stomach into another loop, and he doubted he had the energy to hover over the stove. He pushed down the feeling of hunger and focused on getting himself into a shower and into his work robes.

Once at the Ministry, he began to feel slightly better, able to turn his attention to his potions and his formulas. The familiarity calmed his mind, and the morning lingered on. He didn’t take a break until lunch when his weary stomach growled for attention.

It was then that he glanced at his desk, and noticed another red slip of parchment.

 

> _The Ministry of Magic would like to update you on the errant curse sent through the building last Thursday. It was discovered that the curse affected only a small amount of employees, including yourself. Please report to your supervisor at your earliest convenience. The Department of Developmental Spells apologises in advance for any ailments that may have occurred._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Mafalda Hopkirk Improper Use of Magic Office_

Shit.

Draco stepped into the hallway and was instantly confronted with two men currently in a duel.

“It’s my subconscious, Weasley, I can’t help it!” Cormac yelled, shooting a hex in Ron’s direction down the hall.

“Well, tell your subconscious to stop dreaming about Hermione, McLaggen!” Ron all but screamed as he twisted his wand, sending sharp red sparks towards Draco’s direction behind Cormac.

“Hey!” Draco started, shifting out of the way of the errant magic filling the corridor. “I’ve got to get somewhere.”

“Oi, Malfoy, if someone was dreaming about your partner, would you kill ‘em?” Ron yelled, volleying another curse at McLaggen.

“I can’t help if she wants me in my dreams,” Cormac jumped out of the way, barely missing the giant fireball that fizzled out on the Ministry floor.

“You don’t have to fuck her though!” Ron screamed, hurling a blue-green curse in Cormac’s direction.

“You’re just jealous she wants my cock more than yours, Weasley!” Cormac shot a fat hex towards the redhead, lighting up the tiny hallway in pink flames.

“Look, I don’t give a shit what Hermione is doing in either of your dreams, but could you please take this to another floor? My potions are very sensitive.” Draco held up his wand in warning.

“Not the only thing that’s sensitive,” Cormac murmured. “I’ll lower my wand if he does.”

“Ron?” Draco looked sternly at the Auror down the hall. “Can we move this to the Dueling yard, please?”

Draco took in Ron’s quick nod of acquiescence and continued on his journey.

He knocked hesitantly on his bosses door, ignoring the sounds of Weasley and McLaggen’s continued yelling from down the hallway. He was still standing in the threshold when he heard Ron’s voice.

“You do not have a bigger cock than me, McLaggen!”

“Not about the size of your ship, Wazlib, all about the motion of my ocean, and your wife loves diving into my sea!”

Robards looked up from his desk and rolled his eyes. He nodded towards the door, hurrying Draco into his office. Draco closed it, muffling the noises outside, and readied himself to sit at one of the chairs opposite his superior when he paused.

The chair was already occupied.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?”

“Mr. Malfoy, language, please,” Robards stated harshly.

“My apologies, sir. I was coming to inquire about a letter I received?”

Harry held up a red bit of parchment in response. “I was as well.”

Robards motioned towards another chair, this one empty, and Draco sat, still leering at Potter.

“I’m glad you’re both here.” Robards started. “It seems that a curse leaked from one of the testing rooms, and has, erm, affected some of the staff.”

“Affected? How?” Harry asked.

“It’s caused some staff to, how do I put this? Share unconscious thought.”

“Unconscious? Like if we were knocked out?” Draco implored, leaning forward in his seat.

“More like when you’re sleeping, I would imagine.”

Draco hastened a glance in Harry’s direction. He couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes, and the scruff on his chin and neck. Draco pushed down the urge to ask if he was taking care of himself when the answer was quite obvious.

“I suppose it’s not surprising it would affect the pair of you. Our intel has shown that it’s targeted witches or wizards who feel a certain...inclination towards each other.”

“I’m sorry?” Harry stuttered.

“Inclination?” Draco could already feel his cheeks burning red.

“Yes, extreme love or extreme hate. I assume, given your history, it’s the later in your case, just like Mr. Weasley and Mr. McLaggen.” Robards stared hesitantly at the door, the sound of Ron and Cormac’s bickering still barely audible outside.

Draco tried to see Harry’s reaction through his peripherals, but all he could glace was rolled shoulders and a set jaw.

“Now, I can assure you, the Ministry is taking every step to make sure this curse doesn’t run rampant.” Robards continued. “And the DDS is working tirelessly on a cure.”

“There’s no - ”

“You mean we - ”

“In the meantime, I’m sure you both can remain professional about this situation.”

Both men just stared at him, mouths agape. The sound of a fireball shook the door, followed by more yelling from the men outside.

“You both can return to your offices now,” Robards said, standing. “I need to speak with Mr. McLaggen before Mr. Weasley burns down the entire Ministry.”

Draco stood and followed Harry out into the hallway, thoughts screaming inside his head. _Did Harry hate him so much that the curse would trigger the pair of them?_ He knew it had been rough, that Harry had been avoiding him in such a deliberate manner, but was it really _hate?_ Extreme hate?

“Harry,” he started, once the door was closed and they were alone in the corridor. They could hear Robards yelling at Ron and Cormac somewhere down the hall.

“Just don’t. And stay the hell out of my dreams.” Harry turned and stomped away.

“Sure thing, I’ll just never sleep again,” Draco answered to an empty hallway.

Draco tried to stay up as late as he could, tossing a tiny mouse around with his cat, drinking copious amounts of coffee, listening to loud music over the wireless. It was still only a matter of time before his eyelids drooped and he drifted off to sleep.


	7. They'll never hurt you like I do

_**They'll never hurt you like I do** _

He found himself back in a building, but was relieved that he was neither restrained nor locked up. He took a cursory glance, noticing high, brightly lit shelves, and a line of windows leading out to a busy pedestrian pavement.

“Where am I?” Draco asked to the seemingly empty room.

“I told you to stay out,” Harry called from the corner. He was slouched against the wall, hands wrapped tightly around something.

“I tried,” Draco answered. “Sorry we’re not all as perfect as the great Harry Potter.”

Harry stood abruptly and charged towards Draco.

“You think I’m perfect? You think any of this is perfect?” Harry roared, his face so close to Draco’s that he could feel his hot breath on his skin. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Would it make you feel better if I faced the wall? Maybe closed my eyes, cast a Muffliato?” Draco couldn’t help but be flippant. As if he wanted to be in this weird store any more than Potter wanted him there.

“It would make me feel better if you would just disappear!” Harry swung his hands around, and a very small box fell from his grasp.

“Now, now, Potter, no need to throw things,” Draco tutted. He was used to Harry’s erratic bursts of anger, which were often quickly followed by silence and brooding, and on more than one occasion, hot make-up sex.

He bent down to pick up the black box, but before he could touch it, Harry pushed him back against the wall.

“Don’t you dare,” Harry growled. “You weren't supposed to see any of this! To be here! They were dreams, MY dreams! The only thing that I had left to myself.”

“No, they were my—” As Draco opened his mouth to stop Potter's angry ramblings, Potter lost it. He flung the small box through the brightly lit room, and Draco watched as it crashed against the wall, snapping wide open.

A silver cylindrical object toppled out of it and rolled towards them before it fell on its side with a sharp clink.

He stared at the ring on the floor near his feet. He yearned to pick it up, to examine it, but instead, Draco’s eyes swept through all of the glass cases in the room. Ring after ring after ring filled their casings, and, with horror, Draco realised exactly where they were.

“Just get the fuck out,” Harry’s voice was hoarse, his body crashed onto his knees. “You weren’t supposed to see this. I don’t want you here, Draco.”

“But,” Draco started, so many questions on the tip of his tongue. “You wanted to?”

Harry didn’t respond, except to crumple in on himself even more, his head hanging so low it was resting on his own chest.

“I didn’t know you felt that way, Harry. I didn’t think you even….I would have—”

“Would have what? Would have said yes, would have made me the happiest man in the world? Until one day when they came back, and they took you?” Harry’s eyes were filled with tears now, his shoulders shaking, his hands clenching. “They would have used you, Draco. Would have tortured you, or killed you. Because of me.”

Draco’s face was strained, his entire being wanting to leap into Harry’s arms, to tell him it would never happen, that he was safe, that he would always be there.

He didn’t want to make false promises. He had left, after all.

“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” Harry crumpled to the floor and buried his head between his knees. “But it hurts so bad, being without you.”

“I know, Harry,” Draco tried to sound soothing, but his own heart was breaking. Had Harry wanted to propose? Wanted to walk down the aisle, sharing the moment with their friends and family? That was what Draco wanted, but it had seemed so unobtainable.

He couldn’t comfort Harry, couldn’t say anything to make it better. So instead, he woke up.


	8. It’s not hard to dream you’ll always be my Konstantine

_**It’s not hard to dream you’ll always be my Konstantine** _

* * *

 

Draco’s body was shaking as adrenaline rushed through it. The thought of Harry, on one knee, with a ring, made his heart want to stop and shatter.

 _What had he done?_ If he hadn’t left, would that have been his life? Engaged, married? Would he have been able to tell his father, share the good news with his mother? Finally tell their friends, go out to the pub, or for a walk in the park, or a late-afternoon fly?

Would he have been able to tell his co-workers, and pick out flowers, and walk down the aisle? Have children, or grandchildren, all with the man he loved?

The man he had hurt, the man whose heart he had broken, who hated him so harshly it had cursed them.

The morning’s misery quickly escalated with a glance of red parchment on his desk.

> _Mr. Malfoy,_
> 
> _In response to the errant curse that has affected yourself and Mr. Harry Potter, please report to the Department of Developmental Spells for the antidote distribution at precisely 2:00 pm. We apologise in advance for any inconveniences to your presumably busy schedule._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Mafalda Hopkirk Improper Use of Magic Office_

Draco wanted to crumble the parchment and toss it in the bin. The past few nights had been so vital, and he couldn’t imagine going another day without seeing Harry at least in his dreams. The thought of going back to pitiful wanks and drawing scars in his sketchbook was almost unbearable.

To add to the letter, one of his potions had burned right through the standard size 2 brass cauldron, and had started leaking onto the floor. He’d have to start all over on the thirty-day potion, and dicing up the litany of ingredients required did not bode well for the rest of his day.

As he started to cut into the murtlap tentacle, his mind wandered back to the dream. To Harry, on his knees. The ring discarded on the floor.

Would he have proposed in front of their family and friends? with hearty cheers and clinking glasses and squeals of _Congratulations,_ and _We’re so happy for you,_ and _About time._

Or would he have done it in private? over a candlelit dinner, whispered words of _I love you_ , _I want to tell everyone_ , _please let me call you mine forever._

Draco was imagining the glow in Harry’s eyes, the smile that would erupt when Draco responded with _Yes, of course my love, yes_ when his knife slipped, causing him to cut the rare ingredient horizontally instead of vertically.

 _Shit_ , he moaned as the tentacle juice covered his thumb, and without thinking, he stuck it in his mouth, anxious to clean it off and get on with the rest of the ingredients.

It wasn’t until his scalp started to itch uncomfortably that Draco realized the horror of his mistake. He didn’t even need a mirror to know what he’d find, but he Accioed one anyway. As he held up the bit of glass, he winced. It was worse than he thought.

His beautiful platinum-blond locks were now completely aubergine purple.

Casting a Tempus, Draco realized with horror that it was 1:45. There was no time to run out for a colour-removal shampoo. He clenched his fists and began the miserable walk in the opposite direction to the Improper Use of Magic Office.

Draco knocked on the door tentatively. He conjured a hood into his work robes, pulling it over his head. He knew it looked suspicious, and he had no doubt that the people inside this particular office would let him get away unscathed.

Just as he thought, Draco entered the office to see Harry, sitting uncomfortably in a chair jiggling his leg. He looked up to the door and immediately asked, “What’s with the hood?”

Draco supposed he should be relieved. He’d been trying to think all morning about what he would say to Potter when he saw him. Words like _I love you, I don’t want to live without you, Do you still want to marry me?_ just seemed so heavy for a Wednesday afternoon.

“Lost a battle with some murtlap,” Draco said, slouching into the seat next to Harry. He wanted to look at that gorgeous face, see if it was just as beautiful and soft and loving at it had been during their dream in the Forest of Dean, but instead he directed his focus towards the small witch sitting behind a wooden desk, holding two vials of black liquid.

“Can I see?” Harry’s voice was already filled with broken chuckles, and Draco couldn’t help but smile. It’d been so long since he’d heard him laugh. He pulled the hood down, exposing his perfectly purple hair.

Harry laughed outright, then, and the sound was like music to Draco’s ears, like the blissful sound of waves crashing on the shore, or a fire crackling in the hearth. It felt like home.

“It’s a good colour on you,” Harry said, trying to stifle his snickering. It was infectious, that laugh, and Draco began to chuckle as well, running a hand through his purple locks. He glanced at Harry, and for a moment, and it as if the room was just filled of him and that smile.

“Ahem,” Madam Hopkirk coughed, and both men diverted their attention back to her. “If you would both take these antidotes, we believe the curse will be broken. But there might be some complications.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, leaning forward in his chair. Draco absentmindedly began to rub circles into his back. The movement felt so natural that it wasn’t until Harry cocked his head in Draco’s direction that he even realised he was doing it.

His hand froze, mid-rub, as Mafalda continued.

“Well,” she said curtly, staring at Draco’s arm wrapped around Harry’s back. Draco slowly withdrew, letting his hand settle into his own lap.

“Well,” she continued. “As the spell is balanced on both sides of the coin, love and hate, we had to create two different antidotes.” She pushed the black vials forward. “Mr. Robards said these vials should be sufficient, seeing as you both have shown previous, shall we say, hostility towards each other?”

Draco’s shifted his eyes nervously towards Harry.

“And since I don’t see any paperwork regarding a cross-departmental relationship, which is required by code 79-O for any Ministry official, and which I’m sure you would have filled out, and not disregarded, I have been authorized to provide this potion.” She pushed forward the black vial towards each of them.

Draco watched, open-mouthed as Harry quickly grabbed the potion and pocketed it.

_He hates me._

Even though that cloud had been hanging over him, to see it confirmed in the snatch of a vial was heartbreaking. Harry hated him.

He sat, frozen, as Harry leapt from his chair and ran from the room, slamming the door closed in his wake. The harsh sound was still reverberating when Draco looked up at the poised witch behind the desk.

“Can I help you?” she asked shortly, assumedly annoyed by his continued presence.

Draco touched the tip of the vial in front of him, as though it was poisonous instead of an antidote.

“What if…” he let his words falter, as he stared back at the witch with hopeful eyes. “What if it was the other potion I needed?”

“The love potion?” Mafalda raised her eyebrows. “While I can see why you might have certain feelings towards Mr. Potter, national hero and all that, the cure will still take effect.”

“Would you mind elaborating?” Draco tried to ask calmly, but his pulse was rising.

“If necessary.” She stared at Draco who nodded for her to continue. “Very well. The feelings have to be consensual to the antidote for the potion to work. Since the black potion, the _hate_ potion was administered, if one of you feel this way, the potion will do its job.”

“And if I don’t?” Draco asked, his heart now beating rapidly in his chest. “If I don’t hate him, what happens?”

“As long as one of you has those feelings, the curse will break.” Mafalda gave him a stern look, her lips in a tight line. “Now, if you would excuse yourself from my office, I have other matters to attend to.”

Draco knew what it was like to hate something. The Mark still sat etched into his arm. His soul had been practically destroyed by Dark Magic and bad choices. He spent so many nights wondering if he even had a soul, a conscience, a heart, as he repaired the cabinet, destined to destroy everything in its path.

He knew now he had done it out of love, and not fear or anger or hatred. His actions had been for his mother, for his father, for their home and their name, and the things they held dear. He had wanted to keep them safe.

The same way Harry wanted to keep him safe.

And suddenly, Draco understood.

He understood doing everything in your power to protect the ones you love. Even if it means sacrificing your arm and your loyalty and your happiness.

And your heart.

Draco had sacrificed his heart to show Harry how much it hurt, being hidden and alone when he just wanted to be beside him, with him, for him. But Harry had sacrificed his heart because he loved Draco too much to sacrifice his body, his soul.

This whole time Draco had been trying to force Harry into his own mold of what he wanted, what he thought he needed, but that wasn’t fair. Neither was it fair that Harry had decided to keep their relationship a secret. But Draco understood now, that Harry only wanted to keep him safe.

They were just two people, trying their best, but never really thinking why the other one behaved the way they did. Both of them wrong for the right reasons, and right for the wrong ones. Maybe they should have talked more, instead of fighting, instead of letting their fear get in the way.

An idea shot through Draco's mind. How to fix this, how to show Harry how much he wanted them to be happy. How worthwhile taking the risk, taking the fall, could be.

He just had to fall asleep first, hoping beyond all hope that Harry didn’t hate him, that the antidote would fail, that Harry would join him in his dreams.

That night, before the clock even struck nine, Draco crawled into his sheets. Marzipan curled up next to him, batting her tail back and forth, wondering why they were already retiring for the evening but offering no complaints. Draco swallowed the thick, black liquid, pulled the duvet up to his chin, and tried to fall asleep.

It didn’t work.

He tossed and turned, frustratedly flinging an arm out and accidentally tapping Marzipan’s tail. She curled back into a ball but shot him a withering look before closing her eyes again.

The bed was too cold, too empty, and his pulse was racing a little as he tried to concentrate on falling, drifting, into the place where he could possibly see Harry again.

Draco tried to remember what it felt like when Harry wrapped both arms around his waist, pulling his back securely to his chest. How they’d intertwine their legs, and how Draco’s feet would always be so cold, and Harry would rub his toes against them, trying to warm him up.

How right before they drifted off, he could feel Harry’s breath on his neck, secure puffs of hot air soothing his skin like a lullaby.

\---

Draco had spent the afternoon thinking about what could have been their home together. The Manor was still so cold and large, and held too many bad memories for the both of them. Grimmauld Place seemed to feel the same, the echo of heroes and grief within its walls.

But this, a quaint home on the outskirts of a nameless town, felt right. A stone farmhouse overlooking a large countryside stood in front of him, picturesque with a pale blue backdrop full of rich, fluffy clouds. Draco could imagine sketching while looking out onto the grounds, while Harry baked pies and cookies and tarts, setting them on the window pane to cool. He could picture their children flying loops around the back, and Neville coming over to help them in the garden.

As Draco imagined, the dream made it so, and it wasn’t long before he could see little bushes and vines behind their home. The brustle of brooms flying through the air.

One boy, hair as white as snow, but already big black frames on his face, laughed as he chased a little bird through the air, and a little girl, chestnut locks and a pointy nose, followed her brother as they whipped around the sky.

“Where are we?” he heard Harry’s voice, angry. “I thought we were done with this.”

Draco heart leapt. He was here, Harry was in his dream. The potion didn’t work. The spell hadn’t broken.

Harry didn’t hate him.

In fact, it was the opposite. Harry _loved_ him. Harry loved Draco and Draco loved Harry, and there was no denying it. The potion and their hearts proclaimed it so.

He found he wasn’t even surprised to see Harry here, in front of their dream-imagined house, sun glinting off the rim of his glasses. He looked like he fit. Like they were meant to be there.

Draco reached out his hand, beckoning. “Come here,” he smiled softly, waving Harry closer. “I want you to see this.”

Harry’s footsteps started slow, hesitant, but he finally reached his spot next to Draco, standing in the clearing, staring up at their home.

Draco couldn’t help it. His entire body was aching to touch Harry, even if it was just the smallest graze. He reached his hand out, hoping that Harry would respond.

“This is our house. Every inch of it. Our son was born right here, and Harry, he looks just like you, except he’s got my perfect hair, of course.” Draco smiled softly, picturing the tiny boy that was still swooping through the backyard. He could feel Harry staring at him, but his eyes remained focused on the house, on their future.

“And our daughter,” Draco continued, his voice slightly quaking, trying to hold off his tears. “She’s so beautiful. Already a Gryffindor for sure, she’s so brave.”

“Is this real?” Harry asked softly, his voice barely audible over the wind.

“It could have been,” Draco exhaled. “We could have had this if we weren’t both so…”

“Stubborn?”

Draco chuckled, tilting his head towards Harry, fully taking him in. He could see the corners of Harry’s eyes were wet, his cheeks flushed, his breathing shallow. On the brink of hopefulness and fear.

“Scared, love,” Draco answered. He turned towards Harry, and reached out his hand again, holding it in the air, waiting, barely breathing.

He waited a beat, falling into green eyes and worried lips and soft chin. Draco wanted to kiss every inch of that face, in his dreams, the next day at work, until they were old and grey, surrounded by their grandchildren and their great-grandchildren and maybe a few more cats or some sheep.

He knew he’d wait forever for Harry, but it turned out he only had to wait another moment, before Harry’s hands were in his own, twinning their fingers together.

“I can’t let you get hurt,” Harry whispered. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to you.”

Draco took a deep breath. “But you’re not living at all right now, Harry. Neither of us are. We’re both just trapped again, except there’s no Dark Lord to blame. Just ourselves.”


	9. And we’ll go to sleep but this time not alone

_**And we’ll go to sleep but this time not alone** _

* * *

 

Draco practically skipped to work the next morning. He awoke, rising with the sun, and even took a quick lap around the neighbourhood on his broom, relishing the crisp morning air, the dew on the flower stems. The birds singing their morning hellos.

He ducked into the coffee shop with an extra pep already in his step and stopped dead in his tracks.

Harry Potter stood in front of him, looking like a god.

He smiled, a big grin that spread from one cheek to the other, and Draco couldn’t help but melt at the sight of it. At the sight of Harry, standing tall, confident. As confident as one can be in a queue of morning commuters dying for their caffeine fix.

“Hey,” he said, and his voice was warm, inviting.

“Hi,” Draco responded, and that word felt so simple, so common for what was actually happening between them.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“At 7 am?”

“A coffee drink, erm, a coffee. Just a bit of cream, right?”

Draco smiled back. “Just a bit, yeah.”

“Grab us a table, will ya?”

“Us?” Draco asked, hopeful, wanting so badly for this to be real, to not wake up again in his bed with only the comfort of his cat.

“Yeah,” Harry responded, and then he smiled again. Draco wanted to trace that smile, to dip the tip of his tongue in each of Harry’s dimples, to claw against his back, to hold him as every sun rose and every moon marked its path across the sky.

Draco chose a table by the window, one with a tiny candle and silk flowers. He glanced around the room, looking at the other patrons reading their papers and sipping their mugs. Oblivious to the rapid beating in his chest, to the blush that spread over his cheeks. To the man who was currently paying for two cups of coffee.

Harry walked over to the tiny table, the sun shining brightly through the window, and took a seat across from Draco.

“So,” Harry said as he passed a cup in Draco’s direction.

“So,” Draco lifted his cup and took a sip, allowing the dark liquid to slide down his throat.

“That dream was nice.”

“Which one?” Draco smirked. “I seem to remember several nice dreams. One where you put my cock in your mouth.” Draco watched a blush spread across Harry’s cheeks. He leaned forward teasingly, draping his arms across the tabletop, the only thing separating him from his love. He crossed his wrists, licking his lips. “And another one where you tied me up, made me beg,” he whispered, low, so only Harry could hear.

“I remember,” Harry blushed further, locking eyes.

They both paused for a moment, Draco allowing the memories to slide through his mind. In the Room of Requirement, rutting like virgins, the forest, sucking, panting. The cuffs and the chains, and the hook, and Harry’s mouth—Draco had to close his eyes. He tried to will his erection away, hoping it would behave until a more proper time.

Draco knew there would be. He could see it in Harry’s eyes; the hunger, the passion, the fire he always wanted to see, the one Harry had always tucked away. It now burned clear across his face, so strong that Draco could practically feel the heat of it.

Or it could just be the steam rising from his coffee.

“What now?” Draco asked, feeling confident for once in their relationship.

“Now, I guess we go fill out some paperwork.”

Draco had a brief moment of panic when they left the coffee shop and walked the one and a half blocks to the Ministry headquarters. Maybe he was reading this whole thing wrong. Maybe the occasional breakfast, surrounded by muggles was alright, but Harry wanted to still keep their relationship hidden from the Wizarding World. Maybe Harry didn’t want a relationship at all, maybe it _was_ just coffee and—

And then Harry slipped his hand into Draco’s, threading their fingers together, smile permanently affixed to his charming face.

They walked into the Ministry, hand in hand, and headed straight to the Improper Use of Magic Office.

Draco noticed that Mafalda did not seem surprised at all to see the two of them filling the doorway to her office.

“Form 79-O,” she sighed, obviously exasperated by the sheer volume of work the men were forcing her to do at such an early point in the day.

“Brilliant,” Harry smiled, squeezing Draco’s hand. “And if we could get the—”

“Love antidote?” Mafalda pulled two vials out of her drawer.

“Wait,” Draco stuttered. “You still want to take that? To end our—”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged, pulling his hand away to rub it behind his neck again.

“Why though?” his heart was plunging in his chest. Their shared dreams had been so special and hot and raw, and Harry just wanted to stopper them?

“Our dreams. They’re private, don’t you think? I mean, the past few days have been nice, but it’s not always sunshine and roses.”

“You want to talk nightmares? Did the Dark Lord puncture your skin, brand your arm with his Mark?” He wanted to yell and shout and throw things. His nails were digging into the palms of his hands as he resisted grabbing the stupid quill cup right off of Mafalda’s desk and hurling it towards the nearest wall.

“No, but he did kill off my parents right in front of me, and I’d rather not have you see that.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have secrets, Harry, That’s how we ended up in this mess.” He spat through clenched teeth, and he tried to focus on steadying his breathing.

“Secrets are healthy, Draco. We don’t have to share everything with everyone, _The Prophet_ , our friends,” he rubbed his chin, hesitating before adding, “each other.”

“I was just your secret for so long,” Draco shook his head. His heart was racing with the thought of all this going away again.

“Hey, look at me,” Harry wrapped his hands around Draco’s waist, pulling him securely to his chest. “You’re not a secret anymore,” Harry said, before placing a soft, tender kiss on Draco’s lips.

It was the first kiss they had shared in almost three months, the first kiss in the real world. And Draco thought he might be dreaming, feeling Harry’s skin against his own and his breath against his own, all he wanted was to dive into those warm waters.

And he might have, if a cough hadn’t come from the tiny witch who was still sitting in the room. Staring. Holding paperwork and a quill.

“Gentlemen?” she said, motioning towards the forms and the vials. “Can we please close this matter so I may get back to my other affairs?”

“Yes, of course,” Harry unwrapped his arms and Draco missed them immediately, the security of that simple touch around his waist that seemed to hold everything together.

He watched as Harry scribbled his name across the paperwork, declaring that he, Harry James Potter, was willingly consenting to be in an official relationship with Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy.

With sweaty palms, Draco signed next, his signature looking so unfamiliar next to Harry’s.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Harry wrapped his hand in Draco’s once more and squeezed tight. He snatched up the proper vials with his free hand, and tucked them into his pocket, leading them out the door.

Harry walked hurriedly down the hall, pulling Draco along in his wake. He seemed determined, and Draco was helpless but to follow.

“Where are we going?” Draco asked, but Harry just gripped his hand harder, picking up the pace.

When he finally slowed, Draco realized where they were.

“Harry, why did you bring me-” he started, but Harry pulled him quickly into his office and slammed the door, locking it with a quick flick of his wrist.

“I need to fuck you now,” Harry pushed him up against the closed door and growled into his jaw. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist about it.”

Draco's heart leapt as the familiar words washed over him, and laughed.

“You know I’m not wearing any!” He tilted his head back, allowing Harry to mouth over his sensitive skin. Harry chuckled low, and then bit down on the side of his neck.

“That’s what I was hoping for,” he moaned, running his hands up and down Draco’s sides, pulling at the pressed fabric. “Wish you weren’t wearing any clothes.”

“That can be arranged,” Draco smirked. He knew they were at the office, in Harry’s office, practically in public, and the thought of that made his cock twitch happily in anticipation. Draco pulled his wand from his trousers and flicked it once, Vanishing his clothes.

He knew he should be embarrassed, coming across so _desperate_ for Harry, but something about Scarhead always made him feel this way. Feverish, headstrong. Daring. Besides, he had extra robes in his office.

Harry wasted no time in taking advantage of the exposure of pale skin against the dark oak door. His tongue dragged across Draco’s throat, and the pads of his fingers began to flick tantalizingly across Draco’s nipples.

Draco arched into it, hungry for more of Harry’s hands and Harry’s mouth, not even trying to bite back each moan that escaped from his throat. He wanted it so _damn_ much, and the fact that Harry wanted it too, that he had wanted Draco this whole time, made Draco feel even more frantic than before.

Harry raised his hand and Draco felt the waves of a silencing charm fill the room. He answered the spell with another desperate moan as Harry dropped to his knees and his mouth found its mark.

His tongue lapped around the head of Draco’s cock, teasing it as he was still teasing his nipples with his hands. Draco wanted _more,_ just like in their dreams. Always more of Harry. Craving it, never seeming to quite quench his thirst for the man he loved.

It was like a dream in its perfection, but they weren’t in bed, they were in his office, and it was real and Draco’s cock was now buried in Harry’s throat. His moans were getting louder, but Draco didn’t have to worry about anyone barging in, or being embarrassed. He felt safe. Loved. Desired.

Harry worked his mouth over Draco’s cock in the way he knew Draco liked, long, confident stripes followed by quick sucks on the tip, sending Draco reeling, making his knees weak. He rested his hands on Harry’s shoulders, trying to stay upright, trying to refrain from ramming his need deep down his throat.

Harry shifted one of his hands from Draco’s nipples to his bollocks, then farther back, teasing his perineum, and Draco keened. He knew he was begging, small moans and words escaping his throat.

_Please, please, yes love._

Harry was drawing his emotions out of him with every flick of his tongue, and Draco was letting him, wanting him, begging him.

_More, please Harry._

He didn’t know what he was begging for, more of Harry’s mouth, or Harry’s hands, or even Harry himself, but it felt so good to moan, to writhe under his tongue, to say his name out loud.

Harry pulled his mouth off Draco’s cock, and looked up at him, his pupils blown, his eyes wild with passion. On his knees for Draco.

“Want you to come down my throat, darling, then I’m gonna take you home and fuck you in our bed.”

Draco’s legs almost went out as he stared at Harry on his knees, saying things like _come,_ and _darling,_ and _our bed_.

And then Harry put his mouth back on Draco’s length, pulling it in with his tongue. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked, as if Draco was a treacle-tart flavoured lollipop.

His hand was still rubbing his nipple, and the other one was slowly creeping up to his hole, the hole Harry was going to fuck in _their_ bed, and it was all suddenly too much.

Draco was coming, hard, his body shaking, his mouth screaming, _Yes, Gods, Harry, fuck yes_ , as he came down his throat.

Harry continued to suck until Draco was shivering and begging, his cock over-sensitive to the soft heat of Harry’s mouth.

Harry released him, taking a moment to kiss his thighs and bury his nose into the middle of Draco’s abdomen, breathing in deeply.

“Missed you so much,” Harry gasped, and Draco could hear it, the sadness, the loneliness in his voice. How those words were true, for Draco, for their lives and what they almost lost.

Harry knew all about the casualties of loss.

How you don’t just lose a thing, a person you can never see, or touch, or talk to again. But how you also lose a part of your soul with them, a tiny piece of hope that is replaced by fear. Harry had already lost so much of his soul. Draco couldn’t believe he’d almost lost more.

That he had almost lost Draco, and what could be their happily ever after.

Draco wrapped his hands around Harry’s hips, pulling him up so he could stare into those gorgeous eyes he missed so much.

“Take me home,” Draco whispered to Harry.

So Harry did.


	10. My Konstantine

_**My Konstantine** _

* * *

 

They didn’t waste time running down to Draco’s office so instead, Harry threw him an extra set of his own clothes. Wrapped in Harry’s Auror robes, the big A made it so very obvious to everyone around the Floo stations that they were, in fact, not Malfoy’s standard Potions robes, but Draco didn’t care. Let them stare. Let them know who he belonged to.

Harry practically pushed them through the Floo before he had even called out the address, and the flames licked hungrily around his ankles for the slightest of seconds before turning to green.

“Eager, are we, Potter?” Draco chided as they exited the Floo. He dusted off the smallest spec of dirt, taking advantage of another moment to stare at Harry’s uniform against his skin.

“To take you to bed,” Harry smiled, his hand reaching for Draco’s. He took it instantly, yearning already for Harry’s presence again. He followed him breathlessly down the hallway, taking in Harry’s arse as it led him to his room. _Their_ room.

Draco sat back on the bed, eyes locked in a hungry stare as Harry discarded his clothes. It was one of his favourite times, watching Harry peel off the exterior he held during the day, revealing the lover he only let Draco see.

Harry crawled, finally naked, across the bed and grabbed Draco’s ankles, spinning him around so he was on all fours. He cast a quick cleaning charm, and grasped the firm globes of Draco’s arse in his hands, molding them exactly where he wanted them.

Even though Draco knew what was coming, it still gave him a shock when he felt Harry’s tongue licking across his furled hole. He groaned, slamming down on his elbows as he adjusted to the feeling of Harry’s mouth on him.

Their room filled with the small sounds of Draco whimpering, Harry loosening him, breaking through the months apart, the fears, the anxiety. He felt redeemed, he felt whole again.

He wanted to look Harry in the eye, to fall into the love he knew he’d feel there.

“Want to ride your cock,” Draco murmured, his voice muffled in the sheets. It was a poor excuse for what he really wanted, but Harry understood. He always seemed to understand, even when his own words failed him.

Harry situated himself against the pillows and ran a quick cleaning charm all over their skin. Draco leaned in and kissed him, savouring the feeling of his stubble against his chin, the fresh mintiness in his mouth.

He was aiming for a brief kiss before he got down to riding, but Harry had other ideas. He ran his fingers through Draco’s hair, keeping him close as he kissed him back. His tongue dove into Draco’s willing mouth, their lips dancing together in a tender tango.

He couldn’t resist as his hand reached down to tease Harry’s cock. He hastily spelled thick lube into his palm and wrapped his fingers around his length, relishing the feeling of having Harry back in his hands. They continued to kiss, Harry nibbling intimately along Draco’s bottom lip, Draco twisting along Harry’s cock, both cherishing each other, finally.

Harry’s fingers treaded down Draco’s spine, settling on his arse. His fingers were cold, wet as they breached his already-loosened hole, working their way in, searching for that spot. The one that they tried so desperately to find during 8th year when they were alone and fumbling and pretend-sure. He angled his fingers so they hit that spot, so expertly that it made Draco want to cry with how much he missed those hands and Harry.

Draco arched into his hands as Harry breached him with two fingers, but he wanted more. He wanted to be full with Harry’s cock.

Giving Harry one more delicious kiss, Draco straddled him, rolling his hips onto Harry’s slick shaft. He knew he could come just from that, from the feeling Harry below him, his hand on his cock, listening to Harry moan as Draco slid against his length.

Tonight he wanted more, and finally he could get what he wanted.

He leaned forward, his lips so close to Harry’s again, but he didn’t kiss him. He just wanted to feel Harry’s breath mingling with his own, to feel his heartbeat against his own chest. Draco wrapped a hand around his back, pulling at Harry’s length, aligning it with his greedy hole.

“Get on my cock,” Harry moaned, his nails digging into Draco’s arse. “Want you to open yourself up on me.”

Draco shuddered. This Harry, his Harry, was no longer tentative, shy. This Harry was asking, begging for what he wanted. And Draco was more than happy to oblige.

He let himself sink down on Harry’s cock, savouring the stretch. It felt so good, the pleasure mixed with twisted pain, that Draco tried to force his way down.

“Slow, love, we’ve got all day,” Harry groaned as he stared headily at Draco impaling himself.

“Feels too good,” Draco murmured, rocking himself back and forth, trying to take more, so much more of Harry. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he gasped as another inch slid in.

“That’s it, you can do it,” Harry encouraged, his hands massaging Draco’s arse. Draco leaned back, his hands on Harry’s thighs, trying to open himself up, give himself over to the man he loved so much.

It took a few more moments of Draco rocking along Harry’s cock, Harry moaning below, before he could feel his bollocks on his skin, and Harry’s tantalizing length buried within him.

“Yes, baby, that’s it,” Harry said, biting his lip, staring at Draco with wanton eyes.

Draco leaned forward and kissed him again, hungrily, needing to feel that same want on his tongue as he saw in Harry’s eyes.

Harry’s cock slipped a little, but he adjusted his hips, ramming himself into Draco over and over again, loosening him, claiming him, as his mouth attacked with swipes of his tongue.

Draco was panting now, the feeling of Harry inside of him, jamming against his prostate, filling him up with every grind. Harry smacked the globes of his arse, once, then once more, and his scream was louder than the sound of Harry’s hand.

He looked at Harry, waiting for the words. _Did I hurt you? Are you okay?_ But they didn’t come. Instead, he saw a devilish grin, and it was as if something unlocked between them. That Harry could be hungry, and aggressive and strong, and that Draco could take it, take whatever Harry could give, and enjoy it.

They’d have to have a chat later, about limits and safewords, and what really was in Harry’s trunk, but for now, Draco would enjoy this.

Harry lifted his knees, allowing Draco to sit straight on his cock, guiding it even deeper into his hole as he bucked against Harry.

“Oh, gods, ride my cock,” Harry moaned and Draco thanked Merlin that he had already come. The sound of his partner finally taking control would have surely done him in.

Instead he just moaned, gyrating his hips. He lifted his wrists above his head, thinking of the night Harry had them shackled, thinking of how he was at Harry’s mercy. How much he loved being open and free with him.

Harry pulled him in tight, kissing him, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. His hands were gripped on either side of Draco’s face, as if it was all he ever wanted, as if he was afraid to let go.

He sat up again, hands on Harry’s knees, and began to ride him once more. His cock bounced on Harry’s abdomen as he bounced on Harry’s cock, and it was better than any dream he could have, any he could imagine.

“Slow down, love, I’m too close,” Harry’s eyes were hungry and dark as they stared at Draco’s body.

“Don’t think I can stop,” Draco moaned back, and his eyes clamped closed as Harry wrapped a hand around his length. His body kept moving, up and down, and then Harry was thrusting up into him, meeting his rhythm. They quickly found a tempo, filling the room with slaps of skin and their heated moans.

“Ugh, Harry, I’m-”

“Come for me, Draco,” Harry groaned, pistoning himself up and down at a torturous pace. Draco gripped harder on Harry’s thighs.

Draco came with a loud groan, pulsing his desire into Harry’s welcoming hand. He kept grinding, moving his hips, begging for Harry to follow him over the edge.

“Yes, fuck, Draco, love you so much,” Harry moaned, his eyes locked on Draco’s cock, wet with his desire. After two more shifts of Draco’s firm arse on his cock, Harry was coming, his cock throbbing within Draco, filling him.

They collapsed on the mattress, sticky with sweat and come. Harry twisted his wrist and Draco winced at the charm taking away the desire Harry had given him. He instantly missed it, the feeling of Harry, so he curled up on his chest instead and listened as his heart slowed to its normal rhythm.

“Guess we should go ahead and take these, and I’ll whip us up some lunch?” Harry Accioed the two red vials from his crumpled trousers on the floor.

“I still don’t understand why we can’t keep sharing dreams,” Draco murmured against Harry’s naked chest, running his hands over his ribcage and down to the dip in his side. “You said we weren’t going to be a secret. I don’t want to hide anything from you.”

“It’s not about hiding, Draco.” Harry started, shifting into a sitting position so he could see Draco’s face. “It’s about choice. I want to share everything with you, on my terms. Not have it forced onto me.”

Forced. Draco understood that feeling more than he would like to admit. Forced into a destiny you didn’t want, didn’t choose.

Forced to build a cabinet that would destroy his life and the lives of so many others. Forced to take the Mark. Forced to hide in the darkness when all he wanted was the sun.

He glanced out the window, the sun shining brightly through his window and Harry Potter, naked, sated in his bed. No more shadows and dark corners. No more hiding.

Draco nodded, his chin rubbing against the fine hairs on Harry’s chest. He reluctantly took the vial when Harry handed it to him, and swallowed it down. It tasted thick and bitter, and Draco yearned to reward his taste buds with something much, much sweeter.

A kiss from the man he loved should do the trick, so he planted his lips happily on Harry’s, knowing that he could and that it was wanted.

“If you’re free,” Harry began, after breaking their kiss for air, “Molly’s having a dinner at her house on Sunday. We could go?”

“Together?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, and he pulled Draco in for one more kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to approach consent in three-fold. 
> 
> One is the consent of our dreams, can we control what we dream, and if so, does what we dream change our reality? 
> 
> I think when we're in our subconscious, we can change little things, but we can't control necessarily the start or especially the end of when we wake up. Examples would be dreams in which we find ourselves stark naked in front of a classroom. We can't change it so we're all of a sudden in clothes, but we can push our dreams to search for clothes, or objects in which to cover ourselves, or the will to stand bravely in front of our classmates in our starkers, and own it. Those are all things that happen within the dream, but the start and the end are more in our subconscious, and therefore do not have choice.
> 
> Could McLaggen have chosen not to have sex with Hermione in his dreams? He would have been able to stop it once it started, but...he definitely chose not to. Even when Ron was screaming at him. 
> 
> Cormac certainly felt like his dream actions should not have played a part in his conscious state, but Ron begged to differ. Ron even acknowledges that we cannot control the beginning of our dreams, as in Cormac can't control that Hermione shows up in them, but he sure as hell can stop it if he had wanted to. 
> 
> The same is seen when Draco finds Harry in the jewelry shop. He can't stop himself from being there, but he offers to turn his gaze if that helps. Of course, it really doesn't. 
> 
> The second level I tried to approach was the consent of a break-up. Draco chose to break up with Harry, but Harry had no say in the matter. Draco didn't draw a line in the sand. He just ended it. Even if he had drawn a line, had thrown out an ultimatum, would that strip Harry of his ability to provide consent in the breakup? Or would it have coerced him into making a decision under duress? 
> 
> We do have clear consent in the relationship coming back together, with the very real and very official ministry reports. Ms. Hopkirk would have everything signed and notarized if it were up to her. 
> 
> Third, we have the consent of the removal of shared dreams. 
> 
> The consent of dreams was never given to these characters, but the consent to remove the shared dreams is very much provided. Ron and Cormac obviously snatch up the opportunity to remove their non-consenting voyeurism, but Draco is more hesitant. 
> 
> It begs the question, are secrets allowed in romantic and emotional relationships, should our dreams be shared with our partners?
> 
> I think secrets are healthy, even between couples, between friends, between family. It's important to be able to share what you want, and to contain what you don't. 
> 
> I felt like I left this fic with more questions than answers, but hopefully you, the reader, feel like consent was adequately restored in the end.


End file.
